


Clandestine

by aymoo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A little canon divergent, Angst, Divorce, Draco is in love, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Gay Draco, Gen, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Romance, Shameless Smut, Straight Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:14:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27927322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aymoo/pseuds/aymoo
Summary: Draco has been in love with Harry for a really long time, but he accepted his fate years ago when he married Ginny, his high school sweetheart.Draco's life after Hogwarts had been difficult, but he managed to settle in and create a new, almost Muggle-like life for himself, away from all scrutiny and basically forgotten.That is until he meets Harry again after years, and this single meeting flips his life upside down.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Pansy Parkinson, Neville Longbottom/Blaise Zabini
Comments: 6
Kudos: 59





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi this is my first ever long fic. Hope you enjoy it. Love to hear what you think! Will Update Every Sunday 10;00pm EST :)

Draco Malfoy had adapted very well to life on the outskirts of the wizarding world. It hadn’t been easy, and he had had to unlearn a lot of things; his hatred for all things muggle, for example, and this idea that had been brow-beaten into his head that he was above all living creatures solely because of his pedigree. One doesn’t really notice how much this hatred and rhetoric can live engrained in your everyday life, until you try to change it.

It really had been challenging to do that, and with nothing but sheer will and the guidance of Hermione Granger, he had managed. She had not wanted to associate with him at first, especially in 8th year when he had gone and begged her to help him be a better person. ‘That’s not something you learn, Malfoy’ she had said, but Draco had been insistent, following her around, doing errands for her, until she finally caved in like he knew she would. Because unlike Draco, she was a good person. Genuinely, down to the bone, a wonderful and caring beautiful young woman. Why, if Draco weren’t ridiculously gay, he would have fallen madly in love with her.

Anyway, despite his shortcomings, she had been patient with him, they’d had conversations, long talks in the library as they studied, in Draco’s room as they laid together side by side, in Hermione’s room(despite all of Weasley’s protestations), and all around the Hogwarts grounds. Draco had told her all about his childhood, about the verbal and mental abuse he’d received from his father, the homophobia that had made him hate himself, the coercion into doing things—evil things, for the sake of his family—and, albeit begrudgingly, the admission that he was, in fact, madly in love with Harry Potter.

For some reason, the last admission had not surprised Granger as Draco thought it would; the girl was ridiculously perceptive, and Draco soon realized he could hide nothing from her. Draco had also learned a lot about Hermione; her having to erase her parents memories, all the arguments (and unfortunately, sex stories) her and Weasley had, complaining about Harry and Ginny being obnoxious, etc. they’d found solace in each other, outside of their little friend bubbles, and it became absolutely perfect for Draco. He quite LOVED the woman.

Because of his friendship with Hermione, 8th year had been very tolerable, and Draco had gained the privilege of being acquaintances with Harry Potter. They weren’t really friends, of course, but Harry did extend the generic greeting or two often (Hermione would always have this little annoying knowing smirk on her face and Draco would scowl and blush), and Weasley tolerated him at least.

Those small, brief interactions were a saving grace, and Draco held onto them as he went through his final exams, knowing he would never be with Potter in that sense; he was with Ginny, he was straight, and what would the savior of the wizarding world be doing with him, anyways? And so, he pushed his longing aside for as much as he could, studied, met up with Hermione, and took the final exams.

He had known, of course, that his previous plans of becoming the next minister for magic(it was really more of his father’s plan) were quite obsolete for a number of obvious reasons, Draco had taken a liking to altering clothes with magic. He had decided to intern with a seamstress in London, not very famous, but rather very skilled in the trade. She accepted him without batting an eye, for some reason, and Draco had been relieved (and ecstatic) about finding a career, something he enjoyed doing.


	2. Chapter 2

Matilda Bathridge was often loud and quite disorganized, but she also had an organized chaos to her methods.

Draco learned to never get in her way when she was on a mission, when she suddenly got inspired quite randomly to create a masterpiece of enchanted clothing; it was interesting to see her go, watch her expertise and learn new charms and spells and enchantments.

This time, she had suddenly the inspiration of a phoenix fire robe, a transformation that required the live, magical flames to mimic the phoenix just as it disintegrates, and then is reborn from the ashes.

“It will be…magnificent, Draco! Oh, I must make it my entry into the Wizarding Institute of Magical Attire’s Annual Fashion Championship! I must!” She shuffled around the little shop, Madame Bathridge’s Garb of All Occasions, picking up ribbons and thread as she headed to the back where her design room was located.

Draco, as an apprentice, worked at the front of the store, he had his own little design space, laden with a table to sketch on, a little stool and his 3 different mannequins that he could transform into different shapes and sizes for his needs.

Ahead of him was the consultation area, a cute little set up with a settee and tea, and across from there was the dressing rooms, separated by some worn red drapes.

He sighed, looking out the store front window, watching people walk by happily.

It had been 6 years since he had graduated from Hogwarts, all O’s in his finals(not that it mattered anyway); Draco had spent 4 years as an apprentice, and he was considering sitting down for the Ministry’s Enchantments Certification Exam which gave him the permit to operate his own little shop. Draco had thousands of designs he was going to make, suits, dresses, shirts, shorts, robes, coats, cloaks, shoes, you name it! And his skill was definitely top notch; he had done nothing more than practice for 4 whole years.

Matilda had been nothing but encouraging to Draco; she had pushed him to take the exam for two years, but Draco hadn’t felt ready. Also, it seemed like she quite enjoyed his company, as he had been the first and only apprentice she had ever had. Draco found it absolutely ridiculous. Tilda’s enchantment was the best that he had ever seen; even the most prestigious Wizard clothing lines weren’t half as good as she was! Ones like Regal Antler, Eye of Newt, or even Fantastic Tailoring were pure amateurs compared to her work.

All she lacked was the confidence and capability to show her skills and her expertise; that was why Draco had convinced her to actually enter her pieces in the yearly competition that was always won by the three elites he had previously mentioned. Tilda exceeded their skills all on her own, whereas they had design teams to cater to their innovation.

He sighed, and swooshed his wand to prepare some tea, as the rain started to pour outside. It was almost time for him to head home, anyway, to his little flat Muggle London; Sir Eros would be waiting diligently for him to get home, the rapscallion was always so enthusiastic about Draco. It warmed his heart, but recently he just couldn’t defeat the loneliness that crept into his chest all-to-often.

The tea was ready to be brewed, and Draco decided to pour manually as he wool-gathered. Hermione had suggested a blind date for him –with a muggle friend of hers—and Draco had refused initially, but he was now debating as to whether he should just take her up on the offer. All his poor attempts at having a relationship were thwarted by the fact that no wizard wanted any part of being seen with him in public. His last few “relationships” had been clandestine, covert, and made Draco feel like he was a dirty little secret.

Maybe he was. Or maybe…. dating a muggle would mean not having that wizardly disdain; he could actually go out and do things, go on real dates and the like. Even double date with Hermione and Weasley. The thought of it sounded a lot less lonely than he felt. He resolved to respond to Hermione’s constant badgering with an affirmation.

The clock struck 5 o clock in the afternoon, the old cuckoo flying out and about the room, before settling down in his nest once more. Draco gulped down his hot tea, scalding his mouth as he rushed over to the threshold to Tilda’s offices.

“Off then, are you love?” She yelled. Draco had to smile.

“Yes, Till! Please don’t spend your entire weekend back there! I will see you on Monday.”

“Cheers darling!” She said as Draco pulled on his raincoat.

The rain was pouring, as Draco cast an umbrella and drying charm, keeping himself shielded as he walked down Rector street, a smaller alleyway off of Diagon Alley that wasn’t as bustling, and not as popular either. But Til’s shop had loyal customers, people who had been coming to her for years and trusting her expertise; Draco had even acquired two or three of his own in the years he had been there.

In all honesty, he loved that the shop was so personal; Tilda created pieces according to the wearer’s personality, and to Draco, that was worth a million galleons.

He pulled the collar further up, taking his hat out of his pocket and placing it on his head. Draco had learned the process of blending in to crowd meticulously. When he had graduated fresh out of Hogwarts, he had been the target for the jeering, hexes, little random stuns just for the sake of it. The ministry didn’t care, of course; who would want to protect a former death eater, anyway?

It didn’t help that Draco’s wand had been restricted as well—one of the conditions of his acquittal—to only being able to do charms and enchantments, menial things that made him almost muggle-like. He couldn’t even defend himself! The restriction was supposed to be only for 3 years, but once he had gone to have it removed, there sat the Wizengamot, refusing to reinstate his powers. ‘You need to demonstrate that you are an upright Wizard with no malicious intent, and I am afraid you have not done that.’ They used the complaints of assault he had filed to further show that he was a ‘provocateur’ of violence, and that a regular wand would prove dangerous in his hands.

Draco had never been livider in his life. But as time passed, he just became more…resigned. It was his fate, he supposed, after hating muggles so much, the irony is that he was becoming one.

He had a Telly in his house, a Netflix subscription, and he followed Game of Thrones like a madman. He also had a cellular phone, which he used to call Hermione (who also got one because of Draco) and since he could not apparate, he had purchased a small, sleek little two-seater Mercedes Benz Smart Car that he used when he wasn’t on broomstick. The gentleman who had sold him said car said it was ‘good for the environment’ and Draco discovered just how wasteful and destructive Muggles were. He did not want to contribute to that.

He made his way through the alley, down to the leaky Cauldron, and out onto the London streets, where his silver car was parked neatly in the paid parking lot; he had left on time that day because he had a dinner date with the Weasley-Granger bunch that evening.

Saturdays was their usual dinner date, but Ron had gone on a mission weeks ago and would be back Saturday, so Draco hadn’t wanted to encroach on their reunion.

The traffic was light for that time, and he wove his way through the streets of London like a pro, driving up north to Barnet where the Weasley’s lived when they were not in the Burrow.

Their house was lovely; it was a wizarding community, very quiet and safe. A lot of families and the like, so Hermione’s children, Rose and Hugo, had a bountiful number of friends. He swung his car into the available parking space right in front of the Weasley’s Italianate styled abode.

The sun was setting down the street, bathing the long building in golden light; lighthearted screams of children could be heard from the door just as Draco made to knock.

He rapped gently on the door, and a young, well-dressed little girl – Rose – opened the door for him.

“Draco!” She said happily and jumped into his arms as she always did when he came around for dinner. Rose was the splitting image of her mother. Her big hazel eyes were always bright and full of wonder, a big smile on her face every morning. Her hair was the unmistakable bright red of the Weasley clan, but the wild frizz was that of Granger’s mane. Today though, it had been styled quite neatly, smoothed away from her face and into a low ponytail. She wore a white enchanted princess-style dress, the flowers dancing along the fabric with every movement she made. Draco had made that especially for her on her birthday last year.

“My love.” He said, giving her the biggest kiss on the head as they walked into the house.

“You’re late, Draco.” She stated in that matter of fact, ringing voice of hers as they headed to the back where their courtyard sat.

“Oh, my apologies Rose my darling. I had a few things to take care of at the shop before I could come down to you.”

“Did you make anything new?” She asked, her large eyes twinkling with wonder as they stepped out of the house, the excited screams of dear old Hugo reaching them once they were outside.

“Well, I did actually. A lovely canary yellow summer dress for an older lady. She wanted the sunset along the hem, changing colors each time she took a step. It was going to be for her daughter’s wedding on an island. Turned out rather lovely, if I do say so myself.”

“Oh, I would have loved to see it! Mama says one day she will let me come to your shop. Will you let me?”

“It’s not MY shop, darling, but yes one day I will let you come to the shop. Hugo would have to stay behind, though. That rapscallion would destroy everything in there.” He said Rose nodded vigorously, as Draco descended, spotting Hermione seated on a reclining chair next to someone he couldn’t place as they were facing away from Draco, with Hugo bouncing around their lap.

“Who is that?”

“Oh—Uncle Harry’s here after a really long time!” Rose exclaimed and wiggled out of Draco’s arms. Draco gasped, his mind reeling at the sudden re-appearance of his childhood crush. More like obsession, to be completely honest; but he swallowed, dread and anticipation settling in his stomach as Hermione spotted him and stood up to greet him.

Shit! Potter did the same, rising and turning around to face Draco as he approached.

He looked absolutely delicious. Even after so long; he’d grown a lot. He was tall, broad, his arms were thick, biceps straining against his black t-shirt. His shoulders were wide and muscular, and he practically towered over Hermione where he stood. His thighs were practically bulging in his dark blue jeans as he walked forward, wiping his hands on his pants (most likely from sweatiness), and Draco forced himself to look at the man’s face.

He was more chiseled, age catching up to his youthful face. His jawline was strong, dusted with some fine dark hairs, a 5’o’clock shadow. His hair was styled back, a novelty for Draco as he only ever was used to Potter with his shaggy and unkempt hair; showed off his legendary scar, now a little more faded than before.

Draco was sure he was going to keel over and die. Hermione, the prat, was grinning like the cat that got the cream as Harry took his hand and shook it vigorously, his large hand engulfing Draco’s slim, pale hands. Potter was quite tan, especially compared to Draco. He smelled like an earthy cologne, the subtle but masculine smell making Draco want to close his eyes and inhale the scent like a weirdo.

‘Calm down!’ he said to himself.

“Malfoy!” Potter said jovially, and Draco smiled/grimaced, a bunch of memories flooding back in to remind him just how long he had been pining for this man.

“Potter.” He responded curtly.

“How long has it been? I haven’t seen you around at any wizarding events for quite some time, Malfoy.”

“I’ve been quite busy, Potter, unlike you who seems to have plenty of time to bandy about at balls and soirees.” Draco drawled as he went to sit at the table that Hermione had set.

“Draco, don’t be snarky!” Hermione warned in that motherly tone she often had for Rose. He rolled his eyes, but bit back the remark that was ready on his tongue for Potter. He didn’t know what it was about the man that just brought out the absolute worst in Draco at times.

Potter waved it off with a small smile, those blasted green eyes twinkling with an almost knowing smirk as he stared Draco down. If Malfoy wasn’t careful, he would end up proposing to the man then and there!

Good heavens, he was fit.

“Come, sit down. Harry is rather curious about what you’ve been up to all this time, Dray.” Hermione said, herding them onto the garden furniture, where Draco poured himself a rather generous glass of fire whiskey. If he was to go through this torture sober, then he would not survive it.


	3. Chapter 3

Malfoy was foxed by the time dinner was done. He had been downing the drinks like a man straight from the desert. It had been quite awkward meeting him after such a long time of not seeing each other; but with Harry back home for good and not taking any more cases on abroad.

But mainly, he’d finally come to settle things with Ginny. She had owled him the divorce papers when he had been in Scotland months ago, and Harry had been devasted—not shocked, no—that their relationship was ending so abruptly.

Well, he couldn’t lie and say abruptly. It had been 2 years in the making. He and Ginny got married straight out of Hogwarts, and it had been wonderful for about two years until for some reason, everything changed. Ginny was barely ever home & Harry barely ever spoke to her. Things just…fizzled out. And it wasn’t any one in particular’s fault. But they’d still kept up appearances for 3 more years after that; until it seemed like Ginny was the braver one out of the two who decided to put an end to their misery.

He sighed, not ready to face the music but having sent the signed divorce papers straight to the Ministry without even owling Ginny back was kind of a shit move. She would get the notice Monday morning that they were officially divorced.

Also, Harry needed some time to prepare himself to be thrust in the news once again; Rita Skeeter and the Daily Prophet were still on his case about any single change in his life. The news would be out first thing in the morning, of that he was sure.

He shook his head and sighed, trying to pretend to listen to Hermione as she fussed about the now foxed Malfoy that was draped along his shoulder.

“….and Harry do be careful, he’s not allowed to travel using magic or he will be summoned to the ministry again and they’ll extend those ridiculously inhumane restrictions they have had on him for six years now. Can you imagine that he needs prior authorization just to use floo? AND he needs to submit a request just to use a portkey! I mean, the nerve of those ministers. He’s served his time! And look at him now, he wouldn’t hurt a fly—”

“Hermione, then how do you suggest I get him home? On a broom?”

“What?!? Of course not, Harry! He has a car. You can drive him home.”

“Oh. Wait—HE has a car?!?”

“Yes, of course Harry! Now, he lives not far from Grimmauld place, it’s number 16 Harold St, just a few turns away. He has wards around his apartment but since you’re you, you won’t have—Er, I mean since you’re with him you should be alright. Make sure you tie up his hair because he has a tendency to vomit on it and he absolutely hates that, the smell will be on him for—”

“Hermione—”

“Days! Oh poor thing, I think he was nervous being around you tonight, maybe I shouldn’t have invited you over—”

“Hermione—”

“Alright, run along Harry and floo call me when you’re at his house—actually don’t because the ministry monitors all his floo calls. Just be careful with him, alright Harry?”

“Gotit ‘Mione! Go take care of your other two children, then.” Harry said mischievously, to which Hermione harrumphed with a smile, and went off.

Harry half-dragged Malfoy to his tiny baby little car, placing him in the back with his legs folded up because they were too long for the small car. Christ, Harry could barely fit in the driver’s seat.

But he drove the grumbling mumbling man back home, to Malfoy’s very muggle flat—who would have thought?

“Come on then, up you go!” Harry hauled him out of the car, the smell of roses and a faint minty freshness wafting as Malfoy’s head dropped against Harry’s nose. His hair was much longer now, even more than his father’s, and it was silky soft, softer than anything Harry had ever felt as it tickled his nose and chin.

“Mrrrh…” Malfoy said, his arms flailing drunkenly as Harry tried to keep his long, lithe frame from falling over.

“Malfoy…Malfoy…. Draco, can you stand?”

“Huuuh…. Green Potter.” He said and started to slide down Potter’s front. Harry hauled him up again, deciding to scoop him up under his knees and carry him up instead. Much easier.

“You mean, Red Potter. I’m not a Slytherin, Malfoy.”

“No, silly, Green. Your eyes. They’re so…Beautiful.” Draco said. It made Harry stop in his tracks and look down at Draco, whose grey eyes were blown wide under the light of the street lamps. His skin was still as smooth as alabaster, the years having softened up the sharp lines of his cheekbones and jawline. He looked rather healthy, but Potter was not having a hard time carrying the man at all. His silver hair fell around him almost like a halo, and Harry swore that if angels were real, well they certainly would look just like Malfoy did at that time.

“Sod off, Malfoy, you’re pissed.” Harry responded but the blush on his cheeks was contradictory.

Malfoy laughed, and it caught Harry off guard that he stumbled a little as he stopped by the elevator. He wished he could just apparate the man into his house, but Hermione had been explicit about not doing that.

Malfoy’s flat was on the third floor of the building and around the corner, the door a plain black. Harry felt the wards open up for them as they entered, and he could finally drop Malfoy on his bed.

His face was redder than a tomato at that point and he had this ridiculous smile on his face as he giggled—Malfoy giggling! -- and spread his arms wide.

“Give me a hug, Potter! Now.” He demanded and giggled once more. Harry had to shake his head, a small smile creeping out unintentionally. He’d never seen this playful side of Malfoy ever. He hadn’t even known that it existed.

=-------

Harry helped the man pull off his shoes and socks, and after Malfoy demanded he stay and make sure his hair was braided and tucked away nicely in his silk bonnet—Harry had laughed at this—but despite it all he had actually braided down his silky soft hair into two very adorable pig tails. He had had loads of practice on Rose and the Weasley bunch after all.

Harry honestly had no clue why he had agreed to do all of this nonsense for Malfoy—well, he supposed it felt good to take care of someone after such a long time of not doing so. Teddy was a big old guy now and forcefully independent; he didn’t like Harry fussing about him anymore. And Ginny had always been very autonomous, there was nothing that she couldn’t do.

Harry knew that often times he had felt useless in their relationship, like what did Ginny need him there for?! It was irrational, he knew that of course. But ever since Hogwarts, he had always felt this unshakeable desire to be needed by someone. To be able to do things for someone, to be there for them. Was it the savior complex that everyone said he had? It could be.

Before they even got serious with each other, Hermione had said Harry was possessive and Ginny was too much of a free bird for him. Well, it was kind of true, he lamented.

Malfoy had sobered up a little bit, and they had randomly found themselves sitting alongside each other on his mauve settee, the TV on some very early morning show.

Again Harry wondered why he was still there, honestly, at 4 in the morning as he felt Malfoy’s eyes dart from the TV and onto him. But he felt oddly…comfortable there. He felt more at home on that strange little settee than he had felt anywhere else in the last few years—even his own home at Grimmauld Place. He did feel a little bit sad about it.

Draco, having changed into a ridiculously silky pair of pajamas, had his long legs tucked up underneath him, a blanket up to his chin and that ridiculous black silk bonnet framing his face like a dark cloud. His face was not red, but his cheeks were a dark pink even against the flashing light of the Telly in the dark room. He looked…adorably cute.

Harry had taken his shoes off and unbuttoned the top three off his shirt, his legs resting on the rainbow-colored ottoman on the floor. He felt his eyes grow heavier by the second, despite knowing he had to leave.

“Potter.” Malfoy said, turning his head to look at him.

“Hmm...?”

“D’you want to sleep in my spare room? I have clean bedding and everything.” Malfoy said ever so gently, that Harry, half-asleep, barely registered the question.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, come on then.”

Draco should have known it would hit the news! He should have never let his guard down like that. He had been drunk—no he had sobered up hours later, and he hadn’t kicked the man out of his house. In fact, he had offered him the guest bedroom AND the next morning had made the man breakfast. From scratch!

He’d worn his heart on his sleeve and he hoped Potter was daft enough to not see it. And maybe he could just keep that one evening of just being domestic as fuck with Harry Potter *internal squeal of joy* and treasure it for the rest of his life.

But no, it’s never that simple with Potter now is it!??! He sighed, his phone buzzing just as he got out of his car in the parking garage near Tilda’s shop.

Blaise was calling. Great.

“…Draco! You SLY FOX, you!” His friend cackled in the back, and he could clearly hear the shrill laughter of Pansy in the background.

Wonderful.

“Dray…give us ALL the dirty details, PLEASE!” Pansy practically squealed in delight.

“Does he have a big dick?”

“Is it curved?”

“Circumcised?”

“Does he know how to—”

“Cut it out, you two! I didn’t—I didn’t sleep with him. He just spent the night in my house…”

*gasps*

“in my guest room! Away from me! Nothing happened.”

“Aww, seriously! You had a golden opportunity, and this is how you waste it.”

“Seriously Draco!”

“Look, Potter is straight. He doesn’t like men. That’s common knowledge.”

“No, what’s common knowledge is nobody is officially straight. Look, Potter may be lacking in style and other very gay things, but you, the unmistakably gay full-blood wizard can make up for that.”

“Seduction, Draco! Any straight man can fall for your wiles. I promise you that.”

“Well, it doesn’t even matter anyway because the bloody Prophet caught Potter carrying me up to my flat AND leaving the next day 12 hours later. Im screwed. I was so close to getting my wand fully reinstated today. But now this business with Potter makes me look like a home wrecker. Ugh!” He banged on the steering wheel, and then grabbed the offending newspaper, reading the headlines once again: 

**Former Death Eater and Savior of the Wizarding World Caught in Clandestine Affair**

_**Devastated Weasley-Potter wife files for divorce-And Potter Signs in Agreement"** _

“I can’t believe Potter and Weasley divorced on the same day you two were spotted together- what a terrible coincidence.”

“Yes, terrible indeed. Look, I have to get to work, and I sincerely hope and pray that I don’t get fired. I’ll catch up with you two later?”

“Yea, your place at 6?”

“Alright.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gathers the courage to finally face Ginny, and it definitely isn't what he had expected.

Harry had no choice but to face the music that morning. He had prepared for the news of the divorce to be published, but what he had not anticipated was him being caught going in and out of Malfoy’s house at odd hours. He had been stupid and sloppy.

But honestly, did Rita Skeeter really have nothing more interesting to write about than his life? Christ. It had been several years since the war, and here he was still being scrutinized for every single damn thing that he did with himself.

He hated it.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only problem he was having that morning; turns out Ginny hadn’t told anyone about the divorce, and the Weasleys had already tried to track him down this morning; Harry had to admit that he had run away and holed up in his cabin in the woods, the place where nobody but himself knew about. But he had to face the music, no matter what.

He had been stupid by not even owling Ginny that he had submitted the papers; that was an arse move, and he felt bad for doing it that way. I’m sure it must have caught her off guard.

He sighed as he finally stopped at the front door of Grimmauld Place, pausing before turning the knob and walking in.

Harry had never removed the concealing charm from the old house; it came in handy when the tabloids were scurrying up and down in search of his home. The main difference was that it had been remodeled to a more modern style, with an open kitchen and dining room put together, buffed hardwood floors and Harry had gotten electricity installed throughout the house, much to Kreacher’s chagrin.

The kitchen was no longer drab and depressing, it was beautiful with natural light streaming in from the back garden(which had also been remodeled), and the dining room with the same large dining table, but with a bench and chairs surrounding. It was a lovely home to come to.

But it had remained rather empty the past few years. It was bright and lonely now, not drab and lonely. Ginny was in the study which Harry had remodeled as well, the black family tree transforming into the “Potter” family tree, which also included his friends as part of family. It had been Luna’s idea to do that, and Harry quite loved it. The Black tree was still there, of course as it was a part of the house that could not be erased. However, Harry had noticed the sprouting of different Blacks over the years, and including Draco Malfoy’s gaunt face dangling just underneath Lucius and Narcissa.

Ginny was on Harry’s too, but he noticed now that where the branch attached both of them, there was a slash of sorts. That was quick.

And speaking of Ginny, she was sat on the sofa, a cup of tea in hand and a newspaper-clearly the prophet-in her hand. She looked radiant as ever, her hair slicked back into a bun, her quidditch robe lain on the back of the sofa. She had on her cozy trousers and one of Harry’s old sweatshirts. She must have just returned from Quidditch practice. She looked lovely in the afternoon light of the day that came from the large

“….interesting read this morning, Harry. Skeeter still has SUCH a way with words. Like right here, the way she puts everything so smoothly together as she writes ‘….. _and despite the Weasley-Potter clan boasting a closeness that even a barnacle cannot compare with, their bond was not strong enough to be maintained despite the interference of the long-faced full-blood and his veela-reminiscent wiles. Malfoy possesses an alluring stature, not only pleasing to the eye, but also strong enough to lure even the most faithful into the traps of infidelity_.’ Ha!” Ginny said, amusement dancing in her eyes.

Harry tried to read her mood but failed and decided to go full on with the truth.

“Gin. I’m sorry. I am a right arse; I should have just owled the papers back to you once I had signed them. And I do hope you know that I have never been unfaithful to you. EVER.” Harry said seriously and plopped onto the sofa next to his wife.

Ex-wife. The thought actually sunk in. He and Ginny were divorced. No Longer Married.

Ginny waved him off, a small smile on her face. “I know, Potter. I know you. Did Hermione make you take Malfoy home, then? I know he can’t travel the wizard ways. Heard the Wizengamot are really giving him a hard time restoring his magic. I never cared for the prat, but it’s been years since the war.” She said and shrugged. Ginny seemed to be nonplussed by the whole situation, which left Harry a little perturbed.

Harry had expected some kind of anger or displeasure from her, but all he could see was that gentle fierceness that he had come to love from her. She was his Ginevra; strong and steadfast, but also kind and empathic. A wonderful person. Harry felt even more than arse at that point.

“Harry, it’s fine! I don’t really mind at all. All of this—” she said as she waved around them “—was inevitable between you and I. I honestly think we were just too hotheaded to understand that we weren’t right for each other from the beginning.” She took Harry’s hand in hers and kissed the back. Harry sighed.

“Yes, we weren’t. Hermione was right once again!” Harry said and Ginny laughed.

“I did—and still do love you, though. A lot. Harry, I hope you know that.”

“I do.”

“But not in a romantic way. You’ll always be dear to me. But I want more out of a marriage. And we’re not getting any younger, you know.”

“Yes, I’m practically a 30-year old.”

“I want to have a big family, with tons of little brats running around the burrough. A warm, happy home for them would be nice too. Oh, I DID want that with you at the beginning, Harry, so badly! But I think us not getting pregnant was the universe telling us that it just…wasn’t meant to be. And I am sad about that. Our babies would have been very beautiful!” a single tear starting to flow down from her right eyes. She still smiled though. Harry’s chest hurt.

“Yes, they would have been lovely.”

They sat in pensive silence together for a moment, and Harry couldn’t help the sudden crush of sadness. He was in essence losing his best friend; he and Ginny had gotten along like a house on fire initially. Where had it cooled off? Why didn’t the flame continue on? Was it something that they could have changed?

“We did have good times, right?” Ginny wiped away another stray tear, and Harry sniffed loudly, trying not to cry any more.

“Of course, darling. We had a wonderful time. I’ll always be thankful to you for giving me a home and family when I desperately needed it.”

“Oh Harry. No matter what, you’ll still be a Weasley and you will always be welcome at the borough. Understand?”

“Thank you, Ginny. Though I am not sure your brothers would agree.” He said and laughed but he knew that they would be livid. Ron was most likely being held back by his wife from skinning Harry alive.

“They’ll get over it. I just…I want us both to be happy. Separately. And we have both been too cowardly to take the steps and end this.”

“Not much Gryffindors, are we?” Harry said, tearing up as well. Ginny was full on cry/laughing, and Harry the same as they embraced one last time, as friends. Knowing that they should have just stayed as friends rather than continue on and get married.

“I don’t regret marrying you, Gin. I do hope you know that.”

“Me too, Harry. Me too.”

After Ginny left for the Burrow via floo, Harry closed it off to ward off any unwanted visitors (Ron and the other Weasley men, for example) and set out to rectify the problem at hand: him being coupled up with Malfoy.

What was he going to do about it?! He knew going to deny the story did nothing; Rita Skeeter would end up riling him up and provoking him to an outburst that would then grace the next paper. She was cunning, and Harry knew he wasn’t smart enough to outsmart her.

He decided to go down to the Ministry and try to catch up with Hermione, hoping to the heavens he would not stir up any more trouble being around. But if there was one person who could help, it was Hermione. The problem was that he hadn’t wanted to run into the Weasley bunch or any of his other friends, for that matter.

He decided to keep his cloak hood up as he traveled through the throng of people as they ran off home to their families after a long day of work.

Harry felt a pang of guilt then, remembering how Ginny had spent nights on the sofa waiting for Harry to come back from a case. He really had been a shitty husband.

He took the express elevator up to Magical Law and Regulations where Hermione held an office as a Junior Wizard Barrister. The floor was quiet and dark, as daunting as always, especially since it was the way to the trial rooms that the Wizengamot often used to sentence people to Azkaban.

Hermione’s office was the third to the right, the brown door simple and unassuming. He knocked, knowing that she would be there buried in thousands of parchment at her desk. Mondays were the days that the two brats Rose and Hugo spent with their grandparents at the Burough.

He heard her call to enter after he knocked, and he was not surprised to find her seated at her desk with tens and hundreds of parchments strewn all over the place. He barely saw the bushy mane from infront of her desk, but she stood and exclaimed in surprise at seeing him.

“Harry! Oh, we have to talk!” She quickly rounded the corner and made him sit down on the little sofa along the bookcase.

“What happened?”

“Erm, where should I begin—”

“Why didn’t you say anything about you and Gin?! How come I didn’t suspect anything. No, never mind that. WHAT were you doing carrying Draco like that into his apartment, Harry?!”

“What?! He wouldn’t even stand up!”

“Well--!” She huffed, unable to counter that. “what were you doing at his house for 12 hours, then?”

At this, Harry’s face burned up. “He offered me his guest room for the night and I said yes. And then he made a really good breakfast the next morning!”

“He really DOES make some wonderful breakfast doesn’t he?! But that’s neither here nor there, Harry. How in the world, are we going to fix this?”

Harry honestly had absolutely no idea.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco deal with the consequences of being famous, and being infamous

Hermione hadn’t really been of help at all. Harry had gotten a long-winded scolding from her about not talking about the situation between him and Ginny to anyone. However, it seems like it was common knowledge with their friends that he and Ginny weren’t really ever around each other.

“I didn’t expect you two to actually decide on divorcing each other.” Hermione said as she flipped through more parchment.

Harry sighed. “Yeah, me too. I had been holding on to that paper for some time before I actually signed it. I figured I should stop being selfish and let Ginny go and have a chance at a real marriage and a real family, especially since we didn’t manage to have any children.” Harry said. Hermione made that cooing sound at him; she was such a mother that it almost hurt.

“Well, look at it this way Harry; you’re single and have the potential to sow your seeds all over the wizarding world—”

“Hermione!”

“And the muggle world, might I add. Although you may want to lay low for a little bit until it dies down. I don’t see an easy fix to this situation.”

“I could just deny everything.”

“And who’s going to care, Harry? You know Skeeter just as well as I do that she will twist your words into a totally different meaning for the sake of a hit story!”

Harry sighed again. Trust Hermione to be right once more.

After an additional lecture barrage from his best friend, Harry managed to escape a few hours later when Hermione headed home. Despite being invited over for dinner, Harry decided he needed to clear his head a bit, and there was no better way to do that than a little broom ride around in the cold night time air.

However, as the elevator dinged open, he stepped in only to be jabbed by a sharp elbow, a cloaked man brushing past him in a rush as he stepped into the evelator.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.” Harry would have brushed off the incident as an accident had it not been for the incredibly droll tone that the cloaked man had spoken with; utterly devoid of any remorse, and also very familiar.

“You don’t sound the least bit sorry.” Harry grimaced as he pressed the lobby button and the lift zoomed backwards, then down.

“Should I be?” He finally removed the hood of the cloak that was obscuring his face.

It still surprised Harry just how healthy the man looked. His cheeks were far from gaunt, that pointy chin still jutting but a little less harsh, those dark shadows beneath his eyes gone. Harry had gotten used to seeing Malfoy in that state so seeing him so vibrant and lifelike was still shocking.

Plus the way his long smooth silky silver hair flowed, billowing like a cloud around his shoulders made him look enchanting. He was rather stunning; Harry wasn’t gay, but he could appreciate a good looking person no matter the gender.

“It’s your fault, Potter. I’ve managed to stay off the radar for years, and now I’m suddenly back in the limelight thanks to you!”

“Look, Malfoy, I am sorry. I am! But you’re the one who offered for me to stay at yours, AND the one who made me breakfast AND the one who coerced me into a card game.” Harry said smugly. Malfoy’s face started to turn rather pink, the rosy tint not unbecoming on his smooth pale skin.

“I—well, I was just trying to be nice, Potter! You did rather look like a lost puppy. What kind of a person would I be to kick you out?”

“Oh, I did?”

“Yes, you looked rather forlorn. I did want to ask you about it but I thought it would be overstepping.”

“Oh.”

“Clearly now I know the reason.”

“Yes.” Harry cleared his throat, trying to conceal the pleasant feeling that spread through him suddenly at the thought that Malfoy had actually cared about him for once. Was he dreaming?!

“And now everyone thinks I am the savior’s hidden mistress or something. And it’s thanks to you, Potter—” Malfoy suddenly turned to him, jabbing his chest with a long, pale finger three times “—that my chances of getting my magic restored are now off the table for another year. I’m practically a muggle right now!” He complained.

“Wait, how is it my fault?”

“Today was my hearing to have my magic restored. I have been without a single incident since last year, and now the second I meet you, all of my hard work goes down the drain. Now what do you say about that, Potter?! What will you do to compensate me and my lack of magic?”

Draco’s day couldn’t get any worse. When he’d arrived at the shop, there were a bunch of reporters lined up outside with their cameras ready to snap his photos. Luckily for him, he had spotted them before he had rounded the corner, and decided to use the secret entrance right by Tilda’s office.

“ _You’ve caused a raucous, Draco darling!_ ” Tilly had had said to him as he snuck in. Draco had tried to apologize, but the woman as insane as she was, would not hear of it. “T _hanks to you I’ve sold three of my frocks that have been in display for six months! Biggest turnover for me in a while. Keep stirring the pot, love!_ ” She had cackled and then forced Draco to take a few days off from the media frenzy.

To which Draco had decidedly been happy to take some days off since he needed to hide. Once he tried to go back to his apartment, the Wiz-parazzi camped out in disguise all along the street was enough to spurn him away from there.

To which he implored Blaise and Neville to hide him in their house for a few hours before he could stand at his appeal that afternoon at the ministry. Thank god nobody had been home when he was there, and so he indulged in a bottle of Blaise’s finest wines(the man would hunt him down for this but he didn’t really care) and lamented on the fact that every time Harry Potter came into his life, it always turned topsy turvy.

After all the lamenting and wallowing in self-pity, Draco sobered up when he received a howler from his mother who never really raised her voice at him, but always had a sternness in her tone. The howler was interesting. “Draco, darling. What’s this in the news? Are you really seeing Potter? Your father is quite livid, you should know.” She had said the last part quite gleefully, and Draco had to smile. She quite enjoyed pushing the old man’s buttons these days. “BE CAREFUL, my love. You know the world does not forgive or forget, and I don’t want you to get hurt. Potter has a lot of die-hard fanatics, and they don’t take kindly to the likes of us.”

Honestly, Draco had needed that. He had been head-over-heels in love, excited and happy after spending 12 hours with Potter. They didn’t even have sex or kiss or anything of the sort, and he was already acting like a foolish schoolgirl in love?!? He had to get himself together. Potter was straight. Potter was…well, Potter. There was no way in hell that they would ever be together.

And he had known, the moment he saw the front page of the Daily Prophet that his chances of getting his magic back were slim to none. The main judge overlooking his case was a woman named Florence Deltherson, a crack whip who went by the book, and according to Hermione had the biggest crush on Harry. It was JUST his luck to get that one person who could restore his power, and she was a bloody Potterhead!

The trial had gone even worse than usual, and it had been borderline humiliating for Draco, having to explain and plead that there was nothing going on between him and Potter, and that he was not, in fact, a homewrecker as they described in the tabloids. Of course it fell on covered ears as they didn’t even take the time to listen to him. Who would listen to a former death eater? A Malfoy, at that, the worst of the worst?!

It still was not fair, in Draco’s eyes. He had done his penance. He had paid the price, and he honestly just wanted to get on with his life. He didn’t want to report to the Ministry every six months, have his wand checked, his whereabouts tracked constantly, not being able to conveniently travel like a normal wizard. Not being able to defend himself if he ever got attacked. Not being able to fully master the art of creating magical clothing. It was all just culminating up to the fact that Draco would never, ever be free.

And so, with a heavy heart, he had left the chamber much later than the others, unable to move and once again wallowing until he decided to head home—or to a hotel or something—and see if he could wallow once more.

But then Potter had been right before his eyes, looking just absolutely scrumptious, his dark hair back to being a mess and those broad shoulders begging for Draco’s head to lay on. He should have been angry. Should have lashed out and maybe even tried to hex or punch the man. But his stupid heart decided it was the perfect time for Draco to melt; Potter made him soft-hearted (and hard in other ways), and the thought of wacking the man was basically gone. But not entirely. So he elbowed him as hard as he could once the lift arrived, and he felt a nice smugness as a result. That would do for revenge.

“Compensation?”

“Compensation, Potter. My workplace has been mauled by reporters, photographers camped outside my apartment building, my appeal was denied, and now I have to either go and camp out on Blaise and Neville’s couch and suffer the continuous Barrage of questions and insults from them, or decide to join Hermione where her husband will be sure to box my brains out for supposedly shagging his best friend behind his sister’s back, OR Pansy’s-which is totally out of the question considering they have newborn twins and I am sorry but my nerves are NOT in the right place to be around infants. Receiving a howler from my mother like I am a child in knickerbockers. And finally, not being able to get my magic back because the judge and juror is a woman whose had the biggest crush on you since Hogwarts year 1! So, Compensation, Potter!” Draco said, grabbing onto Potter’s lapels as he spoke. He had to do it; Potter was the source of all the misfortune. And he had the nerve to stare at Draco with those disgustingly beautiful green eyes.

They were like an imp forest, absolutely mesmerizing. Even as he spoke, long-winded he was, Draco felt that little tiny minuscule bit of irritation and anger that was holding on dissipate. Potter’s presence was a like a soothing balm, his magic strong and encompassing like a warm hug.

He was probably doing it on purpose, but it was calming Draco down.

“Ok, then. Why don’t you come and live with me for a little bit?” Potter said, in the most casual tone that Draco barely noticed what he said. He was still lost in those eyes. He didn’t even realize just how close they were standing to each other.

That was until the elevator dinged, doors sliding wide open, and surprise surprise, Rita Skeeter was stood in the lobby of the Ministry.

“What do you mean, live with you?!” Draco practically yelled, and he was sure his face was redder than a beet.

“I mean, move in with me for now.” Harry simply said, his stupid eyes twinkling brightly under the slightly dim light of the lift, and the gasp of the woman standing in the lobby broke them apart, and Draco groaned when he realized who had just caught them in this strange situation.


End file.
